X. LEAVE ME
Before the entire port succumbed to the flames, Aichlan and the elves canvased its stores and homes for any usable supplies. Foodstuffs were in short supply, and their searches did little to remedy that. They did, however, find some usable material; that which could be worked and crafted, used in repairs of arms and armor, or sold in the next settlement. All else had been thoroughly looted before their arrival.
The outlying hamlets and farms were eerily abandoned, with ample signs that the inhabitants fled in a panic, leaving meals unfinished on the tables and clothes upon the drying lines. No doubt they caught sight of the Xanavien army and opted to travel light, regardless, their empty homes offered a welcome respite as the elves prepared for the next leg of their journey. Whatever the case, they must have felt as severely threatened to leave so hastily, this shabby village of a dozen or so homes were the last outpost before the great expanse of empty plains that went on for miles.
Aichlan winced as he attempted to load a cart with several tanned hides, his wounds had closed by this point, but stiffness persisted. His recent exertions likely played a factor as well. The air was hot and heavy with unwarranted humidity, and even stripped of his coat of mail, his tunic was drenched with sweat. Noticing his difficulties, Ashe set down her tally board and assisted him in loading the supplies, and Aichlan forwent the usual machismo posturing that is usually expected of a man when a woman attempts to aid him. He simply hurt too much and was far too hungry to struggle and complain.
“Thanks.” He muttered as he gently rolled his stiff shoulder. “Is there any more smoked venison?”
Ashe’s flame red curls bounced as her jewelry jangled pleasantly with her subtle shake of the head. “Nae, it’s been gone fer a while yet.”
“Shit.” Aichlan swore as he took a drink from the offered water skin. “What’s there to eat then?”
She smiled as she took back the skin. “Whatever ye can go oot and catch.”
Before he could retort, the two of them were abruptly interrupted by the young mage as she scurried past them, her arms full of several bundles of supplies. She stood rigid, like a cornered cat caught in the act, casting a wary eye from Aichlan to Ashe and back again. While her friend was laid out on a cot for the better part of a week, the young mage had been incredibly skittish, barely coming out of the shabby sod and stone cabin she had procured, baring the door with magical glyphs and trap spells.
Aichlan wiped his brow on a rag and offered her a genial grin, to which she promptly turned up her nose and darted off again, like a snooty cat or the insufferable noble that she likely was. While he couldn’t exactly place it, she had a nagging familiarity to him. She also had a distinct posh Briartach accent, all the more vexing given her companions low born Sornish drawl.
Ashe capped the water skin and tossed it into the cart. “Rude lil’ cunt that one.”
Aichlan leaned back against the cart and turned his gaze to the soft blue sky. “She’s from some noble family, they’re always like that.”
“Oh? An’ whey nae ye? Aren’t ye one o’ the noble folk?”
While Aichlan had somewhat become accustomed to the irreverent and often mischievous tone Ashe and the other elves took, her question still caught him off guard. Undoubtedly, she was simply trying to learn more about him, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was being criticized. He had heard that line in one form or another all his life, been judged for his common manner of speech and derided for his blunt mannerisms. Neither one of his parents had placed much emphasis on courtly etiquette, and he never much gave a shit.
“Aye,” Aichlan removed his gloves and tossed them into the cart, “I was.”
Ashe smirked and crossed her arms across her chest. “Daen’t tell me yer sair.”
“I’m not sore about anything.” Aichlan retorted. “I just think I ought to go talk to them, find out what their plan is, and if they know anything about the invasion.”
“Hmm.” Ashe smirked impishly as she tapped her finger against her lower lip ring. “Well, daen’t force em tae talk, we’ll be here fer a while yet. Got the funeral games tae attend to.”
Aichlan stepped back to allow several elves carrying sacks of grain. “Funeral games? What the hell is that?”
“Cheeky!” Ashe admonished with a flick of her hair. “To celebrate the deid, we have hurling and boxing tourneys. Daen’t ye fey folk have a similar practice?”
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Aichlan knew of hurling, it was a popular team sport wherein players used a wooden stick called a hurley to move a ball up and down a field into an opponent’s goalposts. He was actually fairly good at it, but had never heard of the game being associated with funerals.
Aichlan shook his head with and incredulous shrug. “Not that I’ve ever heard of, but then again, I’m not one of the hill dwelling folk. I grew up in a city.”
Ashe pushed off the cart and began a slow, lackadaisical march towards the village center. She gave Aichlan a questioning glance over her shoulder as she passed, and Aichlan quickly gathered up his gear to follow her.
“Being a city dweller or a country bumpkin daen’t much play into honorin’ one’s deid, now does it?”
Aichlan cleared his throat and looked ahead, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I suppose not. We just go about it differently where I am from, with food, drink, and stories.”
Ashe nodded. “Aye, we do that too. Do ye play hurlin’?”
Aichlan let slip a self-satisfied smirk. “I made varsity in secondary.”
Ashe chuckled as she gave him a puzzled look in response. “What?”
Aichlan’s shoulders sagged as he felt his ego similarly deflate. “Yes, I know how to play. Quite well in fact, I was a center forward.”
Ashe laughed to herself and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course ye were.”
While he was not exactly sure what she meant by that comment, Aichlan chose to make nothing of it. He found himself feeling oddly giddy just being in her presence, doing such a mundane act as taking a stroll through town together. A town deserted, its citizens likely all dead or worse at the hands of Xanavene; but in this moment, in this moment he felt more at ease than he had in months. Or rather, since the last time she had graced him with her intoxicating company.
“I hope we end up on the same team.” Ashe stopped short in front of Aichlan and spun to give him a toothy grin. “I daen’t wanna have tae embarrass ye in front o’ the lads.”
Aichlan leaned away as she pressed towards him, her hands clasped behind her back and her chest filling his field of view.
“What do you mean?” he turned to the side and pretended to fumble in his trousers for a kerchief. “You plan on competing with the men?”
Ashe’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Aye, and why wouldn’t I?”
“Well…” Aichlan wiped his brow on the rag and finished adjusting himself as he put it away. “I’ve never heard of mixed matches in hurling.”
“Mixed?” Ashe raised her arms over her head and stretched. “What in Dusk does that mean?”
Aichlan none too subtly drank in her voluptuous form and supple midriff. “Nothing apparently…”
Ashe gave a knowing wink and subtle wiggle of her rear before shoving Aichlan off towards the home the mage and her knight had holed themselves into. He offered her a timid wave and a sheepish smile as he internally steeled himself for the next encounter. The mage was…strange, as their ilk often are. She had a palpable air of haughty supremacy about her, one common in high society circles, despite her ostensible inability to control her craft. There was just something about her though, a niggling feeling of familiarity, likely stemming from her accent and his nascent desires to return to his homeland.
He paused at the doorway, debating on whether he should proceed and what he hoped to accomplish if he did. With a stiff formality, he rapped on the door three times, cursing himself under his breath for continuing to involve himself in matters that weren’t his concern. The following silence was broken by the shattering of glassware and a swear uttered in the ancient language of the sylph, in this case, the aural equivalent of a tepid breeze wafting over a pile of excrement.
The door abruptly swung open, and Aichlan was met by the still disheveled and somewhat short mage with wild blonde hair. Upon seeing him, her face immediately soured, and she prepared to slam the door on him. With an annoyed sigh, Aichlan halted the door with his hand and returned her acerbic glower with one of his own.
“What do you want you cur?” she spat in a sweet voice at odds with her bitter tone.
With her words, all restraint he had intended to embody abruptly vanished. “I just came to check on you, don’t be such a little cunt.”
The mage drew back in shock and surprise, miffed by the casual way he had insulted her. She was definitely one of the high society types, accustomed to dolling out insults only to cry bloody murder when they find themselves on the receiving end. A cowardly and hypocritical class that more or less ruled the world.
She drew herself up indignantly and placed her hand to her breast. “How dare you--!”
Aichlan held up his hand. “Enough. I have neither patience nor time for this. What were you doing in Sorn? Were there other people when you arrived?”
She paused, her electric green eyes swirling with self-righteous anger and existential fear. The two had undoubtedly had a traumatic ordeal in the town, and she was more than justified in her caution.
“We aren’t bandits, cutthroats or even mercenaries.” Aichlan said at length, his tone softening. “You’re free to leave as you see fit, though given the state of the world, I urge caution.”
“What do you want of us then?” she asked as she retreated further behind the door.
Aichlan shrugged and watched the spattering of traffic on the main road. “Information mainly.”
“Fiora would know more about that than I, I’ve not been in this Light forsaken country much longer than yourself.”
“Then let me speak to-“
The mage violently shook her head and stamped her foot. “She’s resting and not to be disturbed!”
Aichlan recoiled at her startling passion. “Alright. As I’ve said, we don’t want to hurt either of you, just trying to get a better sense of things.”
“Understood, and I simply don’t wish to be disturbed by uncouth cretins until Fiora is back on her feet.”
Before Aichlan could retort, she slammed the door on his face and bolted it.